Requiem for the Dead
by SaintScream
Summary: Nearly a decade after the Second Wizarding War, Harry faded from the spotlight and took on a new path in life as an exorcist. His new world of summoning ghosts and exorcising vengeful spirit is turned upside down as he uncover the secrets of a rising evil that threatens to destroy the very world he once helped to save. Borrows some ideas from the Felix Castor Series.
1. I Lacrimosa

_Consciously borrowed characters, ideas, and worlds, from Harry Potter and works by Mike Carey._

I. Lacrimosa

The cold autumn night stirred as a gust of wind blew through the quiet town of Belmont. Ominous clouds, illuminated by the bright moon big enough to fall out of the sky, eagerly waited to cast their shadows over this diminutive civilization beneath, catching them in despair as they peacefully slept, blissfully unaware of the storm to come.

A figure walking briskly down the street disrupted the suffocating stillness. The red ember of a cigarette glowed brightly in the shadows. A thin cloud of smoke emerged behind him as he made his way through the center of town. Just as the man walked past the church, he suddenly stopped in his tracks and approached the entrance.

He quickly examined his surroundings, out of habit rather than necessity, and tried the door. The figure, a man somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties, is illuminated by the light above the doorframe. He can only be considered average, from his size to the uninspiring shade of brown of his hair. A faint scar on his forehead emphasized by the angle of the light. Glasses reflected the light, hiding his eyes behind them. His head moves with quick, minute motions as he once again looked around for any signs of disturbance. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the church and produced a stick out of the pocket of his ministry-issued all weather jacket. An audible click followed a deft flick of the wrist. The heavy wooden door groaned from the pressure as he put his shoulder to it, protesting against being moved at such an ungodly hour. The figure walked inside, closing the door behind him. Stillness returned under the stifling clouds, except for the wisp of smoke rising from a cigarette butt, dissipating into the night.

Once inside, the man wasted no time and took out a silver pendant from his jacket and withdrew the content, hastily wrapping the chain around his fingers before gripping it in his hand. He knelt to the ground with his back towards the weeping figure on the Cross, closed his eyes and began to quietly hum a tune. It started out as barely a whisper, but "Lacrimosa" from Mozart's Requiem soon filled the Church, the melody reverberated between its walls.

Raising the dead is tricky business on the best of days. As the famous Albus Dumbledore once said, "necromancy is a branch of magic that has never worked." This is both right and wrong. You could animate a corpse, even though Piertotum Locomotor is a tricky piece of magic on its own, let alone applying the charm to organic materials. But an Inferius is only that, an animated pile of meat and bones and nothing more. A different way of raising the dead is to call upon a soul from the "next plane." The first problem with that, is that summoning a ghost is never a sure thing. And even when you succeed, the soul's presence in our world is always an unstable one, flickering and transparent; anchored by the emotions of the summoner and reflects them back to you a hundred times over (which could be dangerous for a whole different set of reasons). Ghosts forced to come over to this side are a lot different from ghosts who chose to stay on this side. Getting a ghost to interact with the living requires an equal amount of coercion, mental fortitude, and luck.

There are other ways to talk to the dead. A near death experience, for one, is almost guaranteed to be successful. But it also comes with the overwhelming risk of death, which turns away even the most dedicated necromancers. The singing creates a wormhole between this world and the next, allowing a soul to get from its world to ours and the summoner. Of course, not every sorcerer dabbling in the arts of spiritualism uses music as their instrument of choice. Some of the more religious ones pray, or recite verses from the Holy Book. Some choose to draw pictures, some play exploding snap with themselves, make lists of potion ingredients, interpretive dance, so on and so forth. It doesn't matter how. All of these are simply meant to create a magical connection between the spirit and the summoner, an anchor for the soul to hold on to while traveling between the planes of existence.

The man paused mid-verse. A small smile appeared on his face. A pale translucent figure rose like smoke from the pendant between his fingers.

"Hello Mrs. Lovegood."

"What do you want, Harry Potter?"

"Why'd you think I wanted something? Maybe I've missed your company."

"We're not your toys, Harry. I thought you would've learned your lesson by now." The ghost replied with an uncomfortable forwardness.

"Don't remind me."

"I see you've found yourself a proper church," Pandora Lovegood changed the subject as she examined her translucent fingers, "I can really feel the devotion."

Harry that churches are a good place to communicate with the dead. The soul, for whatever reason, is almost always more collected and solid, less smoke and mirrors and, well, less dead, in a church. The location amplifies the psychic energy in a way that makes connecting to the afterlife more likely to occur. The older the church, the stronger the amplification. Harry finds that old stony catholic ones tend to pack the biggest punch. Maybe it's because his songs are usually Latin hymns, and there's a connection between those and catholicism. Maybe old is just better, and some of these are really, really old. Maybe it's even the presence of God, who knows? Harry never asked too many questions about religious convictions.

"Yeah, this one is a lot older, I think."

"So what do you want, Harry Potter?"

"I need a favor."

"Why?"

"Always the hard hitting questions," Harry smiled, "that's what I like about you."

The ghost, however, did not return his smile.

"I need you to find someone," Harry continued.

"I'm bound to that necklace, Harry. So, unless you'll be finding someone yourself, I cannot help you find them. And since you'll be looking for someone yourself, I fail to see how I can be of help. Though I suppose I could go through walls, but you could just walk around them to get to the other side." Pandora smiled as playfully as a ghost's expressions allowed her to.

"I'm going to set you free."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. you've been a tremendous help, really. I've learned a lot from you, Pandora. If you do this for me, I will unbind you from this world and you'd be free to go back to yours."

"And what exactly is stopping me from leaving the moment you unbind me?"

"Because I need you to find your daughter."

* * *

_Author's Note: I've edited this chapter because I realized that in the two chapters I've written, I have advanced the storyline by 0. So I figured it'd probably be better to have to story actually go somewhere in the opening chapter, and then introduce some backstory._


	2. II Sacramentum

II. Sacramentum

_7 days ago_

A sea of people moved with the utmost sense of efficiency as Harry was swept along with the current getting off the tube at Kensington station. Even though it was more crowded than he would've liked, Harry always liked trains. He liked the anonymity. Plus, it felt way better than apparition. But he reckoned anything except the cruciatus will feel better than apparition, so that wasn't saying much. Either way, it's not like he was a busy man these days.

Harry saw a familiar face. Dennis Creevey was standing to the side of the escalators, dressed in a muggle business suit, his straw blonde hair neatly combed, his tie knot immaculately symmetrical.

"You didn't need to come meet me at the Station. I know my way around the city just fine." Harry didn't resist smiling at one of the most insistent admirers from his youth, "It's good to see you," he added.

"It's good to see you too, Harry!" Apparently time did not waver Dennis' enthusiasm for the famous Harry Potter. He was every bit as energetically as he was younger, "Wow, it's been years! I don't think I've seen you since the battle at Hogwarts! How've you been? What have you been up to?" he asked, a million miles a second.

"A little of this, a little of that," Harry replied dismissively. This was exactly why he didn't like to take clients with whom he shared a past with. But magical England is a small world, and he couldn't exactly work for muggles without seriously violating the Statute of Secrecy.

"Let's get lunch. What do you say?" To Harry's relief, Dennis changed the subject to a less uncomfortable one.

The-Boy-Who-Lived completed his auror training almost right after the Second Wizarding War, becoming the first wizard to do so without sitting for a single NEWT. But Magical England was focused on healing and peace. The dangers of war had faded along with the remnants of destruction as the country rebuilt itself from its rubbles, and moved on to bigger and better things. As a result, there was a lot of stamping papers and moving documents from one cabinet to a different cabinet, and not enough death-defying duels and life-threatening missions to suit Harry's taste. Instead, he ended up getting paid money he doesn't need to do a job he doesn't want. So, after a year and some months of mind-numbing paper pushing, He resigned from his post and left his ministry approved life behind. Sick of dealing with the endless red tape of his work and being under the public's constant scrutiny, Harry Potter combed his hair (the best he could) and covered his faded scar, ditched his iconic wire frame glasses and invested in a smart horn rimmed frame. Harry Evans became just another face amongst thousands of other faces.

The official title, the one that goes on the his tax forms (yes, even witches and wizards have to pay taxes), as well as the door of his small office located above Potage's Cauldron Shop in Diagon Alley, of his new line of work is "Spiritual Advisor." which means bollocks. Harry is a Necromancer. Not the Inferi creating, getting caught means spending the rest of his life in Azkaban kind, but the summoning ghosts and drawing circles with blood and candles kind. Technically not illegal, but it's not exactly ministry approved.

Harry followed Dennis through the doors of a neat café at a street corner. Large windows allowed rays of sunlight to enter the establishment. It was clean and modern. Black and white pictures on the walls depict an assortment of geometric shapes. They sat down at a table towards the back and were immediately attended to. Dennis quickly ordered some things as Harry flipped through the menu and decided that, if it wasn't blatantly obvious before, this was a very, very nice place.

"It seems you're doing well for yourself."

"Well, I suppose so. After I finished Hogwarts, I decided to come back to the muggle world and go to university. There were some problems with providing some documents and exam scores, of course, but I managed to get it all worked out. Turns out arithmancy was dead useful for studying economics. So now, I'm a banker!" Dennis seemed to have regained his enthusiasm.

"A pretty good one from the looks of it. This is a nice place for a 20-pound sandwich," Harry was impressed. Young Dennis was doing quite well for himself, more than he could say about most people who didn't have the right last name.

"Well, lunch is on me," Dennis laughed, albeit a little uncomfortably.

They ate in silence.

"So, what can I do for you?" Harry asked, after he took the last bite of his sandwich.

"I heard stories. I know what you can do. And I…" Dennis hesitated before continuing, "I want to see Colin, to tell him that I'm doing really great and well, I'll be getting married soon, and I feel I…I want to tell him."

The Second Wizarding War tore through England's magical community like a rabid beast and left behind nothing but destruction, devastation, and death. No one was more affected by the war than Harry Potter. Harry logically knew that it would be absurd to say that the war was his fault. He also knew that he did everything in his powers, and a hell of a lot more, to fight Voldemort and the Death Eaters. But logic be damned, he can't help but feel a nagging sense of guilt in the corner of his mind for not being clever enough, not strong enough, not quick enough…There's always a something he could've done better somewhere along the journey. Dennis' request was one he sympathized with. But he wouldn't let anything like Remus and Tonks happen again. As much as he wanted to help Dennis see his brother again, Harry was not going to raise the ghost of Colin Creevey.

"Your brother was a loyal friend, Dennis. But I don't think you want to do this." Dennis opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off, "I understand what you feel, more than most would. Colin would be very proud of what you made of yourself. You don't need to tell him, he knows. He is watching over you, Dennis. And he always will."

This case was too close to home. Colin was someone he felt responsible for ever since he was petrified by the Basilisk. Harry always felt protective of Colin, as annoying as he was sometimes, he was just a young boy with a big heart, trying to do the right thing and emulate, though foolish it was, his hero. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to remove his emotions to do the job properly. It was too much like the first time, and Harry vowed to never let anything like that happen again.

Remus and Tonks were Harry's first attempt at necromancy without using the resurrection stone. Like most first-times in life, it had gone horribly. Souls do not like being summoned like a dog on a leash, even if said soul was one of your father's best friends. The problem is that summoned ghosts are fueled by the emotions of the summoner. When a ghost is summoned, it feels what the human it's anchored to feels, only multiplied a hundred times in intensity. And Harry was feeling very, very guilty. As a result, the Lupins were overcome by guilt. They cried, they apologized for abandoning Teddy, for being too eager for battle, for being too willing to sacrifice themselves for the right thing. Then they cried some more. Needless to say, his 7 year old godson did not have the most pleasant afternoon. Teddy positively shit his pants when he saw the devastatingly distraught, not to mention, _dead_ parents greet him as ghosts while wailing at the top of their vocal register and flinging objects around the room.

What made matter even worse was that at this point of his budding career as a spiritual medium, Harry knew fuck all about the proper etiquettes of channeling spirits. He was surprised that he summoned the Lupins at all, so it was no small wonder that he knew nothing about how to release the ghosts back to their astral plane. Harry's knowledge was strictly limited to a quickly skimmed chapter from some book from a bookshelf that caught his eye while he was cleaning 12 Grimmauld Place when he was moving in. As much as he loved Lupin and Lupin, the presence of two hysterical dead ghost parents doesn't exactly make the optimal environment for a 7 year old orphan to grow up around. So Harry did the most logical thing he could think of, he sang the melody backwards, trying to literally reverse the summoning by reversing the process itself. Surprisingly, Remus and Tonks' inconsolable ghosts faded and disappeared, presumably going back to where they came from. No more crying ghosts. No more flying books and broken glass. Tragedy had successfully been averted. Harry was forbidden from doing any magic in the presence of Teddy until grandmother Andromeda was "rotting six feet under the bloody ground."

But Harry never returned the souls of Remus and Tonks back to their spiritual plane, he they merely ceased to exist. After a more in depth study of the arts of spiritualism, Harry eventually realized the meaning of his action. By literally undoing the musical anchor of the souls. The ghosts lost its connection to this world. With nothing holding the soul together, it scattered into nothingness. Once he came to the realization of just how big his fuck up was, the guilt he felt towards Teddy can only be described as 'ghost like.' Harry didn't know where non-existence is, but he did know he dragged the souls of the parents of his godson, his friends, out of the place it should be and removed them from reality.

Harry learned more about the importance of preparation in twenty minutes than in the entire six years he spent at Hogwarts.

"I just…I really miss him, you know?" Dennis' voice was quiet, "I really want to see him again."

"You will in time, but that time isn't now, and hopefully not until you've a nice, fulfilling life," Harry smiled, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't seem to work. "Seeing Colin again, as a ghost, would hurt you more than you can imagine," Harry continued, "He'll only be a manifestation of himself, a shade of the person he was. All it will do is remind you of your loss. There's nothing worse than seeing the ones you love but knowing they don't belong in this world anymore. Trust me."

"Then why do what you do? Why bother at all? Surely the Hero who defeated you-know-who wouldn't be going around summoning ghosts if it'll hurt people so?" Dennis scoffed, his sadness was replaced with an anger Harry hadn't seen from him before, the last words soaked with bitterness.

"They made their own choices, who am I to refuse?" The words left Harry's mouth before he realized what he had said.

"I'm making my own choice."

"I don't want you to suffer. You've been through a lot," It even sounded lame to Harry.

"You don't know a thing about me, Harry Potter," Dennis said, his voice low and venomous, "you don't care about me, you didn't even care about Colin, you just don't want someone who died, _because of you_, to haunt your own fucking conscious."

Dennis stormed off, and left with the last word before Harry could reply with his own obscenity.

Harry was left with the bill.


	3. III Anacrusis

**III. Anacrusis**

_3 days ago_

A few stray rays of sunlight shone through dusty windows of the Leaky Cauldron. Specks of dust suspended peacefully in the air were interrupted by a cloud of smoke. Harry sat in the dimly lit corner of the bar, still operated by old Tom, inattentively watched streams of witches and wizards enter and come out of Diagon alley on this lazy Tuesday afternoon as his thoughts drifted in and out of his conversation with Dennis Creevey.

Harry's thoughts were derailed by an array of dazzling colors. He stared as a witch with long, dirty blonde hair, walked…no, _floated_ through the front door in a sundress with diamond patterned that gave the impression of large, rainbow colored scales from a distance. The abundance of colors fought with each other to fit into the gravity of her small frame. Her presence disrupted the monotony of the various shades of grey that went through Harry's field of vision as he brooded over yesterdays.

Luna Lovegood approached Harry's table without looking directly at him. Harry noticed her signature radish earrings have been replaced with pearls. But knowing Luna, she probably thought they belonged to some magical creature far more outrageous than clams. Either way, Harry considered it an improvement.

"Clams have magical qualities, you know," It was almost as if she could read his mind.

"Luna! Hello!" Caught off guard, Harry nearly spilled his firewiskey, but he quickly recovered, "Are you in a hurry?" Luna shook her head, "Come, I'll buy you a drink. It's nice to see an old friend."

Luna's smile grew brighter at the word 'friend.'

"So what brings you here?" Harry asked after he finished his latest shot of Firewhiskey.

"Well, I'm going to Gringotts to exchange some money. I'm going on an excursion to America to study Re'ems. Rolf found a small herd in Wyoming. They are very rare these days."

_What the hell is a Re'em? _"I take you like being a magizoologist?" Harry asked instead.

"Yes, it is most fascinating."

"Cheers to that," Harry refilled his glass, only to empty it again.

"So why are you drinking so heavily at 3 in the afternoon? On a Tuesday, no less," Luna asked after taking a sip of butterbeer.

"I saw Dennis Creevey the other day. It reminded me of some things I didn't want reminding of."

"The war," Luna said matter-of-factly, "but that's not all, is it?"

Harry shook his head. There was no dancing around with Luna.

"How'd you run into him?"

"He contacted me to do a job," seeing Luna raise an eyebrow, Harry elaborated, "I've sort of became an necromancer. Let me explain! I figured out how to raise ghosts, and since I quit the ministry, it sort of became my job."

But Luna still looked skeptical, so Harry continued, "Some people needed wills of their relatives verified, what's a better source than the original creator? Sometimes Williamson needed help to solve a murder over at the ministry. Some people just miss the ones they lost and they want to see them again. It's not dishonest work."

"It's not honest work, either. Harry, the ones who moved on don't belong back in this world. There's no knowing what the consequence would be!"

"I'm not going around and randomly making new ghosts. They're only anchored to my magic temporarily," Harry defended, "You know, that's what Hermione said too when she found out." He knew it was below the belt, but the effect of comparing her to Hermione was instantaneous. Luna never did like her close-mindedness.

"How did you learn all of this? I don't imagine there are a lot of books in this subject, or anyone to ask, for that matter," it seemed that Luna's curiosity won out.

"Not legal ones, anyway…Luna, you know the Deathly Hallows?"

"Of course," Luna lowered her voice, with excitement in her eyes, and whispered, "You have the Resurrection Stone?"

"Not anymore. I sort of dropped it in the Forbidden Forest during the Battle of Hogwarts. But I've done some research on ghosts, what they're made of, how they're anchored and all that, and worked my way backwards from there," of course, Harry left some of the more sensitive details out. He wasn't going to mention who had been helping him with this research, especially not with Luna.

Harry did research quite a lot about ghosts, and did a lot of the legwork on his own (Hermione would be proud). After all, that was how he raised the spirits of Remus and Tonks. Once he figured out the physical manifestation of a summoned ghost draws its presence from the summoner's emotions, he had to re-approach his study in Occlumency, which he found to be much easier now that he became more emotionally mature (or perhaps he was just drained, but he doesn't know anymore). But even with the ghosts emotionally stable, he still didn't know how to send them away without acting as a human dementor, exorcising their souls into nonexistence. So he found a promising magical theorist who died young enough to not object to his nonsense, recent enough to care about his horribly justified reasons, and unconventional enough to help him achieve his goal. Enter Pandora Lovegood, magical theorist, spell crafter, unofficial consultant to the Department of Mysteries. She also happened to be Luna's mother, whom she witnessed the death of when she was nine.

He wouldn't dare telling Luna.

The conversation shifted to lighter subjects. They talked of their mutual friends. About George and now Ron's joke shop and the booming business. About Hermione's latest push for magical creature rights, and the backlash it received in the Wizengamot. About Ginny's rising stardom as one of the premier Quidditch players in Europe. And no, they were not dating anymore. Yes, Ginny was still family, just that their lives were just going in different directions but that was okay. Luna's "very charming" colleague, the grandson of the famous Newt Scamander, and soon to be fiancé, as she believed he will propose sometime during their research in America.

"Re'em blood gives its drinker strength, you see. The Natives were hunting them for centuries, and later the Americans started to. Even the muggles joined in, they think they're the same as bisons, but you can differentiate them by the texture of their horns. That's why their number is so low now. It's quite sad, really. I really don't think being strong is all that important. I mean, Hermione did carry all your books for you at Hogwarts," Luna said, they both had a few (Harry had a few more) drinks.

"Oi! She carried them because she wanted to."

Luna couldn't keep a straight face any longer, and soon they were both laughing a little too loudly, slightly annoying the other patrons and a few passersby.

"We've been here for two hours! I really should get going. Gringotts will be closing soon, and I need muggle money to travel."

"Well come on then, _Lady_ Lovegood, it will be an honor for me to walk with you," Harry offered his arm with an excessive flurry of embellishments. When Luna humored him and took it, he lurched downwards and took an exaggerated fall as if the weight was too much to bear. This drew even more looks. Harry turned around and waved to Tom, who returned it with a wink, causing Luna to laugh even harder, and together they walked through the magical gateway. With the bright orange sun half hidden by Gringotts, Diagon Alley was gilded by the rays. They walked down the warmly lit cobblestone street, between long shadows casted by buildings on both sides of them, creating a river of light amidst the bustling street. They strolled through the alley with only the slightest hint of urgency and arrived at the doorsteps of the marble bank.

"Now, if you ever change your mind about this Rolf fella, owl me so I can be the first in what would sure to be a very long line to court your favor."

"I think I'd rather be on trial," Luna laughed, before she more or less composed herself, "but thank you, I've had a wonderful time this afternoon. It _was_ nice to see an old friend."

"Safe travels, Luna," Harry gave her a departing hug, she stilled for half a second, surprised by this act of unfamiliar familiarity, but returned it wholeheartedly. In their close proximity, Harry had a sudden urge to steal a kiss, instead he smirked, "for luck," Harry added.

"Bye Harry, I'll see you again," she smiled vaguely. With a final wave, Luna Lovegood walked through the heavy wooden doors.


End file.
